Stiles Stilinski's Life is NOT a Rom-Com
by UnstableIntention
Summary: Fake-dating doesn't actually happen in real life does it?
1. Chapter 1

So, Stiles and Derek are friends.

Really.

Like, actual friends.

A few years ago he never would've thought that that was possible. Hell, a few years ago, he wouldn't have thought Derek could _have_ friends, let alone that he would _be_ one of them. Well, maybe the _only_ one, but that wasn't really saying that much either way.

The point was, they were friends.

You couldn't go through all the hell they had together and come out on the other side _not_ being some kind of something.

Derek had saved Stiles' life, Stiles had saved Derek's…

That kind of thing built bonds, whether you wanted it to or not.

And in the end, it had kind of worked out for the best.

Especially now.

Now, when Derek's pack had practically evaporated around him, trickling away until it was just… well, really just him left.

A year and a half ago, Scott had gone off to vet school way up on the north side of the state, still a True Alpha and still happier denying all werewolf aspects of himself. Apparently that was easier when he distanced himself from Stiles in addition to the rest of their friends, the pack, Beacon Hills itself. It had started with Allison and Isaac of course, so Stiles had been half-expecting it, but it still hurt, losing him. On that front he knew exactly how Derek was feeling, but the rest though he could only guess at. Just listen, on those rare occasions when a little bit of vulnerable humanity slipped through the cracks of Derek's _Iceman_ routine and he actually _talked_.

Talked, about the family he'd lost and the family that he still had, but didn't really have. A sister and an uncle who were as broken as he was in certain ways, and maybe more unable than unwilling to care about him. Cora, who was living in South America with the pack she'd grown up with. Who wrote sometimes and called once or twice a year, but hadn't visited since she'd left. Peter, who was always around but never really _there_ , doing whatever it was that Peter did, popping up at the worst of times to be his obnoxious and sassy self and then disappearing again when you needed him. Mostly though Derek was alone, and being a beta again didn't do much to cut the sting of being essentially packless.

As such their relationship was a point of stability that they had both slowly come to count on, because it ended up working out nicely for Stiles too. College hadn't been the huge change he had always hoped it would be. He loved it, don't get him wrong. He was excelling in his World Mythologies major and his medical research writing courses, and he'd made a handful of new friends that he'd gotten fairly close with. It was just… well, he was still the same old Stiles. He felt mostly the same as he always had - still a little gangly and awkward, even if his shoulders had broadened and he'd gained some muscle, still sarcastic and prone to spells of ADHD that had him dashing around fast enough to make everyone around him dizzy. All in all, it just seemed like college felt the same as high school, instead of the jam-packed frat-boy calendar he'd once imagined.

It was fine, really.

He was having fun, at least when it wasn't finals time, and he was actually beginning to wonder if he wasn't just one of those people who was happier with a small, intimate group of relationships that just _worked_ instead of the type who forced constant interactions even though they'd rather be home. And he was definitely an acquired taste, he knew that, so it wasn't like he expected everybody and their brother to like him.

Besides, the whole spark-who-runs-with-werewolves thing meant that he had to keep a huge chunk of his life buried safely in the closet anyway.

Although as far as closets went, Stiles had found his happy place the first year he'd spent living on campus at Berkley. It wasn't that he'd been… _suppressing_ his orientation, but a general lack of interest from both sides hadn't left him with much room to explore it. College had given him the opportunity for more than one date, boys and girls alike, and he'd found that he liked both, at least when you were still talking about plumbing. Personalities, not so much. He'd gotten together with a real jerk halfway into his sophomore year and it hadn't turned out well. The guy had spread a couple of rumors, said some crummy things...

Anyway, that was where having Derek as a friend came in handy.

The drive from Berkley to Beacon Hills wasn't awful, which meant that when Stiles didn't come home for the weekend to check in on his dad or to spend a holiday, Derek came to him. It was easy as cake for the magically reappeared Camaro to make the drive to campus. He did it a lot too, more and more as time went by, and there were parts to that that Stiles wasn't sure he wanted to think about - like the fact that Stiles might be the only person in the entire damned world that Derek trusted - but it meant a lot, especially when he was the one that was feeling crappy.

It had been just about two months since Stiles had split with Brick (and really, with a name like that, he should've known better), but with all of the aftermath still hanging around it wasn't really _over_.

Sue him for still processing.

 _Which…_ was how he and Derek wound up fake-dating.

Yeeeaaah.

Apparently that was a thing that actually happened in real life, not just in crappy rom-coms.

In the end it was entirely Stiles' fault.

He could totally cop to that.

And while he and Derek had _definitely_ had some moments over the years, moments that had involved some _serious_ UST - at least on Stiles' part - he'd never, _ever_ thought that he would wind up _dating_ the guy.

Or… _fake_ dating him.

Whatever.

His brain was a little fried right now.

Ok, he was freaking out.

Derek had come down to hang out for the weekend even though there were only two more to go before Stiles was coming home for Thanksgiving. He'd actually asked this time - usually the werewolf just showed up, tossing out a text that he was in the area and appearing at the front desk of his dorm room half an hour later. This time though Stiles had been having a really shitty week, dealing with a sudden increase in negative attention from Brick once again while still fighting his way through midterms. He'd needed some bro time to take his mind off of it all, and with Scott halfway across the state and out of the best-bro running a long time ago, Derek was his go-to guy.

It was supposed to be a chill weekend.

They'd done it before, what seemed like a hundred times.

They would wander around campus, hit a bookstore or a coffee shop, then hole up in Stiles' dorm suite to binge on takeout and Netflix. They'd drink, play Call of Duty - which Derek had become surprisingly adept at under Stiles' tutelage - and every once in a while they might smoke a little pot if there weren't any big assignments coming up. Just an easy weekend between two people who'd already seen each other at their very worst.

By all rights, it started out that way too.

Stiles had a late meeting with one of his professors on Friday afternoon - the one he'd already chosen to be his dissertation chair when he started his doctorate - so Derek picked him up in front of the Arts and Literature wing. He'd been leaning against the hood of the Camaro, illegally parked and gleaming, his face tipped up to the sunlight wearing that stupid leather jacket and those stupid aviators and Stiles had rolled his eyes, jumping down the steps with a flail that had Derek smirking, ignoring all the flirtatious and covetous looks being sent his way by the students and even some of the faculty milling around.

Part of Stiles was sick at that, wanted to tell each and every one of them to back off, because yes, ok, Derek was hot! He'd thought about that more than once, thought about drunken make-out sessions or a cheesy, stereotypical dinner-and-a-movie date because screw it, they were friends. Why couldn't they be more?

The other part of him just laughed.

Derek was out of his league, he knew that, and even if there was enough history between them to hang themselves with, enough moments of unresolved sexual tension to choke on, he'd never moved on it. Never shown overt interest.

Neither of them had.

So yeah, as much as he felt like Derek was his in some ways, he really wasn't.

They were friends, and hell, at times like these, that was usually more than enough.

They bro-hugged, another thing that Stiles had taught the reticent werewolf, the handshake that tugged the other in for a chest bump and firm claps on the back. Derek was grinning, laughing, and Stiles couldn't help but grin right back. When Stiles had first left for Berkeley, he had been just as hesitant and closed off as he'd always been, but slowly he'd become calmer and easier around him. As time went on he was more and more free with physical touches, and Stiles began to notice. He didn't read too much into it - just that Derek didn't have a pack and Stiles was a substitute for that, that no one gave him the touch the tactile werewolf needed. In a way it felt like exposure therapy, and seeing real progress was nice.

Sliding into the Camaro, they'd fallen into their banter like they'd never been apart, getting most of the teasing and crap out of the way while they drove over to park in the validated guest lot outside of Stiles' dorm. From there they'd walked back to the coffee shop Stiles loved, crossing campus and enjoying the crisp fall weather, the gorgeous colors as the trees changed and students bustled back and forth in a flurry of eager freedom as the weekend approached and the hell of midterms faded.

They hit The Daily Grind with perfect timing - the college café was super popular despite the cheesy name, and if you came in fifteen minutes on either side of the hour, you got lost in the swarm of students looking for a caffeine boost between classes. Today they were lucky; the line was almost non-existent when they came in, and the buzz of conversation from the few patrons who lingered inside was low enough that they could continue catching up without pause.

Derek was just insisting that it was his turn to pay for the grande pumpkin latte Stiles had ordered when a voice behind them made his stomach freeze and drop down to the vicinity of his shoes.

Fuck.

Brick.

"Well well well, Stiles Stilinski," he hummed, a sneering grin curling over his mouth as Stiles turned slowly on his heel, the way he might turn to face a vampire or a harpy or any other deadly thing that could kill him. "What do you think you're doing here?"

"It's a coffee shop," he said flatly, his eyes flicking past his ex to the two other young men who flanked him. Great. They had an audience. "I'm getting _coffee_."

"Stiles," Derek rumbled, low and quiet at his side, and Stiles felt him shift, knew without looking that will he'd moved into a subtle fighting stance.

An overreaction yes, but that was the hazard of being who they were.

Quick to neutralize what could easily become a rather bloody encounter, Stiles reached out and slid his fingertips down Derek's leather sleeve, curling them around his wrist in a loose grip that none the less held him back.

"Derek, Brick," he said by way of an introduction. "Brick, Derek."

Beside him the werewolf immediately relaxed. He knew Brick's name of course, understood Stiles' wariness as that of a spurned lover facing down their ex instead of a spark facing down a demon, but unfortunately Brick's attention only sharpened, his eyes immediately dropping to Stiles' now white-knuckled grip on Derek's wrist.

" _You're_ Derek?" he snorted in disbelief. " _This_ is the guy you had waiting for you?"

 _Shit_.

He'd forgotten about that.

Or maybe repressed it.

In his defense, shouting that he could do a hell of a lot better in the heat of a nasty breakup was a totally understandable thing to do. And really, looking back, that part hadn't even come close to a lie.

The rest… _eh_ , not so much.

He may have been a little drunk. Or a lot. After finding out that he was being cheated on left and right, who could blame him? Still, it meant that the little details of that night still escaped him, although he _did_ remember the gist of it. And knowing the gist of it, he expected that he _may_ have thrown Derek's name out there.

More than once.

In detail.

 _Shit_.

" _Yes_ , Brick, this is Derek," he replied, leaping ahead before the cart he'd set to rolling down the hill overtook him and steamrolled him flat. "As you can see, I've moved on, and since _you_ moved on before we even split, I think it's safe to say that we're done here."

Releasing Derek's wrist, Stiles moved to leave, but unfortunately he wasn't fast enough because Brick was talking again, and this time he was talking to Derek.

"So you're the famous Derek," he mused coolly. "Heard a lot about you."

"Interesting," Derek replied in the 'I-couldn't-give-a-shit' tone that Stiles knew so well. Cocking an unimpressed eyebrow, he ran his gaze over Brick from top to bottom and cast him a smirk of dismissal. "So have I."

Stiles watched Brick's face darken and knew what was coming - he was exactly the type to get into a douchebag pissing contest and in that moment it hit Stiles hard how much he couldn't believe that he'd _ever_ liked this guy.

"Let's just go," he hissed, quietly enough that only those with supernatural hearing could hear, and for just a second he thought he saw Derek's eyes flash.

"And you expect me to believe that _you_ are dating _him_?" Brick sneered.

"No, I don't think I'd expect anything as complicated as _thinking_ from you," Derek drawled, and Stiles felt his eyes go wide in shock.

Since when did the Sourwolf rely on _words_ to win a fight? He'd always been dark scowls and threatening, rough manhandling and growly eyebrows.

The jerk had been holding out on him!

Brick's face had gone a deep red and his hands were fisted at his sides, his guard-gorillas stepping forward with angry faces but Derek didn't so much as shrink back, utterly confidant, and the aura of power it gave him had a sudden arousal spiking hot and dark in Stiles' gut. He saw Derek's nostrils flare but other than that the werewolf didn't let his attention waver for a moment, staring Brick down with the old Derek death-glower Stiles knew and loved so well.

"Well the sex was shit, so that's not what's keeping you around," Brick snarled through clenched teeth, and Stiles felt his cheeks heat as the people around them began to take notice of the brewing argument between their tense little group. "Is he _paying_ you?"

Derek snorted, and then an arm was coming out and wrapping around Stiles' waist, dragging him in to Derek's side with a startled yip.

"As charming as all the stories have made you out to be," he countered with a roll of his eyes. "It's good to know you've finally stepped up in the world Stiles."

"If you do say so yourself," Stiles choked, retaliating by poking him in the ribs, the only place he knew the mighty Derek Hale to be ticklish. Grabbing the lull in the fight with both hands, he wrapped an arm of his own around Derek, who was still keeping him anchored tightly to his side, and began to pull him towards the doors. "Come on _stud_ ," he said tightly, smiling so widely it hurt his face and probably made him look like a maniac. "Let's get out of here."

"Right," Derek rumbled, rolling his eyes, and Stiles could tell just from that single word that he was going to pay for the pet name.

He knew better, sure, but right now he didn't care. His whole body was quivering with a pent-up sort of anxiety, a desperate need to get out and gasp out half a dozen _what-the-hells_ , almost on the verge of a panic attack. If it took a few 'dudes' that's what he was going to rattle off, regardless of the actual ink-and-paper contract he and Derek had forbidding its use.

"Oh and _Brick_ ," Derek called just as they pushed the door open and Stiles froze, his hand flashing out to grab Derek by the edge of his jacket, an intense desire to just throttle the wolf and get it over with consuming him.

"If you thought the sex was shit," he purred with a wicked smirk, and Stiles' heart stopped. "You must have been doing something _really_ wrong."


	2. Chapter 2

They made it all the way back to Stiles' dorm before the silence between them broke.

Before Stiles broke.

Derek had dropped his arm casually enough when Stiles stepped away from him on the sidewalk, but stuck close to his side the whole trip back, watching him carefully for signs of panic. He'd bitten it back hard though, gulping down his coffee too fast, the burn in his throat a perverted kind of comfort until he was able to close the door of his one bedroom suite and lock it behind them. Dropping his empty cup into the trash, he'd crossed over to the breakfast bar that separated the tiny kitchen from the living area and leaned over the countertop, gripping the edge so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"So," Derek said flatly, shucking out of his jacket and collapsing into his corner of Stiles' crappy IKEA couch. "Want to tell me what just happened?"

Lifting his head from where he'd dropped it between his shoulders, Stiles stared almost blankly at the werewolf, slouched low and comfortable in the place he'd claimed as his own, feet kicked out and knees falling to the sides, his black t-shirt tight across his chest. He was the picture of nonchalance and easy calm, but his eyes were burning with an intensity that gave away the lie, the intense green and grey that wasn't nearly as haunted as it used to be, but still just as haunting.

"Why don't you tell me!" Stiles growled bitterly, pushing away the cool, tickly shudder that threatened to run down his spine.

"Thought I was helping," Derek shrugged. "And really Stiles? That guy?"

"Hey screw you," he sneered. "He's a jackass ok? I get it! Big mistake."

And he was.

He'd known nearly straight off the bat what kind of jerk Brick was, but at the time it hadn't mattered. At the time Stiles had only been on a handful of dates before him, had only experienced limited, disappointing sexual encounters, was still finding his place, finding himself. He'd missed his friends, his pack, and yeah, he'd missed Derek too, the guy he hadn't had a chance with but had been crushing hard on anyways.

On the surface Brick had reminded him a little bit of the werewolf, and he was man enough to admit (at least to himself) that that had been a part of the allure, but it hadn't lasted long. What had seemed like broody stoicism was really condescension and dickishness, where Derek was cautious and careful and a man of few words Brick was just plain mean. They didn't even really look all that much alike, and there face-off in the coffee shop had only served to highlight the differences. Brick was shorter, muscled in a stocky, heavy-set way where Derek was straight-up built... and ok, maybe Stiles needed to get a grip right now since the guy was sitting like, ten feet away.

He'd managed to keep his stupid crush under wraps back in Beacon Hills, and now that they were actually friends there was no way he was gonna let that go to shit.

Too bad Brick may have done it for him.

"You deserve better, you know that," Derek said firmly, the edge of a snarl in his voice as Stiles rounded the counter to grab his laptop off the coffee table, a sense of dread pooling in his belly.

"Yeah, well, it's not like there were a ton of people lining up," he muttered, rolling his eyes as he flopped down onto the other end of the couch, pulling up one knee so that he was turned toward the man.

It was a dangerous statement, one that skated the edge of what he really wanted to say, what he'd promised himself a long time ago he wouldn't embarrass himself by saying. Unwilling to meet the man's eyes, he opened his computer and brought up his Google alerts, his Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram accounts. He might've been dumb enough to date Brick in the first place but he wasn't entirely stupid. They may have broken up – thank god – but Stiles had learned the necessity of monitoring social media. The douche had a bad habit of making a nuisance of himself. Like seriously, anyone would think that the guy still...

"Shit," Stiles hissed, zooming in on a Facebook post.

"What?"

Derek had clicked the TV on and pulled up an episode of Adventure Time, but immediately shut it off again when he caught the note of distress in Stiles' tone.

"Nothing, just... shit."

Frowning, Derek got to his feet and quickly rounded around behind the couch, leaning over Stiles shoulder and grabbing the corner of the laptop to turn the screen up toward him.

"I'm sure everyone here at Berkley will join me in congratulating our very own Stiles Stilinski on his new 'relationship,'" Derek read, nearly to himself, his voice a low rumble as he pressed himself against Stiles side.

The post was accompanied by a photo the guy must've snapped as Stiles and Derek walked away from the coffee shop, Derek's arm wrapped around his shoulders and holding him tight to his side. It was actually a really nice picture, the fall leaves bright orange in the background, but hell if it didn't actually look like they were dating the way they were cozied up, and that was the real problem. Brick was popular, had a lot of friends and an online following, and it had been nearly half an hour since he'd posted.

Stiles was only surprised his phone wasn't blowing up by now.

"What the hell is wrong with this guy?" Derek asked in his ear. "What does it have to do with him anyway?"

"He's pissed," Stiles heard himself say. "Technically I broke up with him. I mean, he turned it – you know the shit he pulled when we first split. This is him punishing me. He doesn't actually believe we're dating."

"Why not?"

"Seriously?" he snorted. "Dude, I was lucky to date Brick – he's on the football team, that shit's a status symbol. You? You're way out of my league."

"That's such bullshit," Derek snarled, and Stiles frowned, unsure which part of all that the guy was protesting. "That guy's a total dick – no one would be lucky dating him."

"Yes, thank you, for reiterating my mistake, again," Stiles snapped.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Derek rumbled. "What's the big deal anyway? So he posted a picture, so what?"

Turning, Stiles reached up and took Derek's face in his hands, shook his head as he stroked his thumbs over the man's cheekbones and ignored the tickle of his stubble against his palms.

"Oh you sweet, innocent starchild," he simpered, dropping his hands into his lap again when Derek scowled and slapped him away. "You really don't see the problem here? He just told like, half the campus that we're dating."

"So?"

"So we're not!" he yelped, throwing up his hands. Derek lurched over the back of the couch, snagging the laptop that Stiles' flail had nearly sent toppling and sending him a dirty look, but he couldn't care. The guy was being intentionally dense now, because really?

"This is a problem," he intoned gravelly, even as Derek closed the computer and set it aside, came back around to sit down again. "There's no way I'm not going to catch a world of shit for this. It was one thing when I 'got dumped' by Brick, but I'm gonna be marked as the world's biggest loser for getting dumped by you."

Exhausted by his little rant, the emotion he'd thrown into it and the anxiety-fear of what was to come, he slumped back against the cushions, half-hanging over the arm of the couch, and slung an arm over his eyes.

This was gonna suck.

"Who said I was going to dump you?"

Stiles froze.

What the hell?

Scolding himself for the way his heart stuttered in his chest, he dropped his arm and sat up slowly, narrowing his eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's not like it's a big deal," Derek scoffed, shrugging as he reached for the remote again. "You can tell them we're dating if you want to."

"Wait... seriously?"

"Yes, Stiles, seriously," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "Not like it's gonna affect my social life."

"What social life," Stiles sniffed, the joke lightening the mood just a little, kicking the seriousness of it all, calming his anxiety. "Just... I mean it's not that easy, you know that right? I mean, it's already on the internet – I'm just surprised Lydia hasn't called me already."

"Yeah, because Lydia's following some random asshole from your school. You're blowing this out of proportion Stiles."

Scowling, because no, he really wasn't Stiles crossed his arms and opened his mouth to argue but Derek beat him to the punch.

"If someone asks you can say yes, we're dating," he groaned, rolling his eyes. "If for some stupid reason they push for details just make it up – not like we haven't spent enough time together for you to know my birthday or my favorite color or what I eat on my pizza."

Ok, point.

Which... was weird in itself...

That it would be so easy for them to fake-date if they actually had to...

They were strangely intimate for two people who weren't.

"He'll forget it Stiles," Derek said quietly, soothingly, easily picking up on his discomfort, his anxiety. "and when he does, when someone else asks, if they ask..."

Frowning, Derek shifted sharply, tossed the remote back onto the table with a sharp clack and crossed his arms over his chest.

"If they ask then we broke up."

"You..." he began, then stuttered, stalled out, confused by the sudden bitterness in the man's tone. "Are you sure? You're really cool with this?"

Derek shrugged, didn't answer.

Great, back to his silent, glowery self, and how was he supposed to interpret that?

They were just suffering all kinds of set-backs today weren't they.

"It's not a big deal," he said suddenly, all in a rush just as Stiles started to turn away, and he almost sounded defensive. "You don't have to make it a big deal."

"Right," he said slowly, dragging the word out. "Ok, so, that's... that's cool."

"Fine."

"Fine."

A heavy beat of silence passed, the television muted as Finn and Jake danced their way obnoxiously across the screen. They only ever watched Adventure Time when they smoked or drank, when one of them had had a rough week and wanted a break.

Seemed appropriate now.

"So," Stiles eventually attempted, stretching his legs out in front of him and poking his toes against Derek's thigh. "Wanna order that pizza?"

Snorting, the other man couldn't seem to help a grin, slapping his legs down off the couch and reaching for the remote to change the video input, switching over to Stiles' beat-up Xbox.

"Yeah, go for it dear," he said, queuing up some Call of Duty. "You know what I like."

"Oh it's on," Stiles threatened, getting up to grab his phone from the jacket he'd slung over the countertop. "If you think you can win the pet name game against me you are sorely mistaken, Der-Bear."

Derek laughed, tossed his head, and Stiles took the opportunity to sneak up behind him, drop his chin onto the older man's head, and snap a selfie. He had other pictures, lots of them by now, but none that were really 'boyfriend' pictures. If he ever needed it this one would work. He'd caught Derek still grinning, eyes bright and looking past the camera to dull the werewolf glare, Stiles staring straight at it with a smile that was a little too sappy, a little too honest to be perfect.

But it was.

Perfect.

Planting a hand on Stiles' face, Derek shoved him off, growling when Stiles slobbered a long, sticky lick over his palm in retaliation. It only took a few taps to save the picture, seconds to send it off to the number labeled Do NOT Answer in his phone with the caption 'Thanks for the well-wishes. We appreciate it!'

Just seconds, one thoughtless decision, a casual agreement between friends, and just like that, he was dating Derek Hale.


End file.
